


Just the Beast Under Your Bed

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling, I'm having a lot of sad!anxious!sam feelings and this is the result, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another sleepless night. Sam should be used to this by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just the Beast Under Your Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just really really upset about Sam Winchester, okay?

There’s something _ethereal_ about anguish. It’s burning and drowning all at once, being blinded by light and dark together. It’s the in-between - the shadowy netherworld where everything is pain and blood but you can remember the joy and the freedom that came before; you can even see it, but you can’t quite reach it.

Sam thinks about this, staring at the dark ceiling above him. He’s alone. Dean is in the next room, probably snoring.

The bed feels too big for him, like it’s going to swallow him up and drag him down into an abyss. Which honestly doesn’t make any sense. He’s an adult - hell, he’s a hunter. The anxiety that’s gnawing on his insides and driving him to morbid metaphors is entirely unfounded.

His stomach twists a little, and Sam sits up. The wave of nausea grows, so he clamps a hand over his mouth, tries to breathe through his nose and stop thinking. Slowly, it fades. The urge to vomit everything he’s eaten today into his lap passes. He crosses his legs, plants his elbows on his knees, and just hunches over. Monitoring his breathing. Keeping it steady.

There’s a ringing in his ears and his blood is buzzing at a low, uncomfortable frequency. It feels like he’s going to shatter if anything changes, if the air conditioner so much as turns on. A quiet noise escapes him - lost, afraid.

Sam is tempted to try and get up. Maybe go brush his teeth again, or even take a shower. But he thinks he might be shaking too hard to make walking to the bathroom a good idea, to say nothing of the fact that he will puke his guts out before he even gets off the bed.

Rain starts to patter softly against the roof. It pings lightly against the window panes, creates a soothing backdrop of white noise. It slowly starts to get louder, rain coming down harder, and the room gets a little bit colder.

Thunder makes him twitch slightly, and there’s a flash of lightning a few seconds afterwards. The concussive sounds prompt him to lie down again, slowly. He pulls the scratchy motel blanket over his shoulders, trying not to shiver.

There is a gentle tap at the door of his room. “Sam?” The voice is respectful, quiet. Comforting in its familiarity.

“Come in,” Sam answers, doesn’t raise his voice over the thunder or rain.

The door doesn’t open, but there’s suddenly a person standing in front of it. Lucifer hovers there like he’s hesitant to come closer, but Sam meets his eyes, so he takes a few slow steps forward.

He comes to sit close to where Sam is lying on his side, just far enough down that Sam doesn’t need to crane his neck to see his face. A hand reaches out, drifts soothingly through Sam’s hair, and Sam closes his eyes with a sigh. He can feel himself settling down a little more. The tightness in his stomach is easing up some.

Lucifer is _safe_. Sam knows this, through and through. Lucifer’s presence is synonymous with his own well-being, his comfort. So when Lucifer’s hand comes to rest at the back of his neck, heavy and barely lukewarm, Sam sighs again. “I missed you.”

That prompts movement - the blankets being lifted so that Lucifer can slide under them, Sam reaching out to pull Lucifer closer. Lucifer rests his head on one arm, and lifts the other hand to curl around Sam’s cheek. “And I you,” he says, tips his head forward so that their foreheads are pressed together. Lucifer’s eyes hold Sam’s, analytical and calm. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Sam smiles slightly. “No more than usual,” he says, and Lucifer nods. They get pressed even closer when Lucifer moves forward to get his arm around Sam’s back, still high enough to comb through Sam’s hair.

Lucifer hums a little as Sam works to twine their legs together too. He presses a kiss to Sam’s forehead, which Sam returns with a brush of lips at Lucifer’s temple.

Sam starts to drift off, at long last. He has a moment of dreamlike reverie - this is the gap in his anguish. This is the in-between of all that is pain and that which is not pain. Their history is bitter, tastes like ash in Sam’s mouth, but everything about Lucifer places Sam in a world of comfort, safety. _Contentment_. It’s a calm night on the shore, small waves lapping gently at the sand. It’s a chill in the air, rain so fine that it’s almost fog. It’s dewy grass under a starry night, the moon turned to shadow.

It is belonging in the arms of the brightest fallen star, protected and loved beyond measure or doubt. It’s the one place Sam feels entirely at home.

“Sleep,” Lucifer murmurs. The rain pours down, and thunder beats its drum overhead.

Sam sleeps.

 

 


End file.
